


the falling method

by Zoadgo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Failure to Communicate, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Light Abandonment, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Self Inflicted Angst, Sexual Content, Swallowing, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: It is somewhere in there, in that mess of Bokuto being the center of his life, in the adrenaline of victory and the crushing blow of defeat, that Akaashi falls in love. He’s not an idiot. He knows what love is, and he knows himself. There’s no one aha moment, no sudden, simmering tension. All he knows is that one day he’s picking up after Bokuto with a grumble, and the next, he’s dreaming about him.Bokuto goes from a problem to be solved, to one that has no possible answer.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 108





	the falling method

He doesn’t need him. Akaashi knows this. If he’s being honest, Bokuto never _needed_ him. For all his temper tantrums and mood swings, Bokuto would have been fine on his own. He still would have bounced back and risen up stronger even without Akaashi by his side. 

But still, for those years that they played together, Akaashi could pretend. He could lie to himself and everyone else, and say that Bokuto needed him. That that’s why he stuck by his side, following Bokuto around, letting the boisterous ace get away with things Akaashi would never allow from anyone else. That it was for the sake of the team, because Akaashi was the only one who could keep Bokuto on track, and bring him back when he started to fall.

What a damn lie.

Maybe it was like that at first. Yeah, it probably was. Bokuto was a problem to be solved, a situation to be analyzed and corrected. His moods, his quirks, everything that makes Bokuto _Bokuto_ , Akaashi studied it. Because he had to, right? For the team. So they could win.

But did he ever really care about winning? Or did he only care about Bokuto? The way he lights up when he hits that perfect line shot, how he puffs out his chest when the crowd cheers, how he laughs and boasts without any reservation. How he shines like the sun, and how Akaashi, if he works very hard and is very careful, gets to stand next to him and bask in his rays.

It is somewhere in there, in that mess of Bokuto being the center of his life, in the adrenaline of victory and the crushing blow of defeat, that Akaashi falls in love. He’s not an idiot. He knows what love is, and he knows himself. There’s no one aha moment, no sudden, simmering tension. All he knows is that one day he’s picking up after Bokuto with a grumble, and the next, he’s dreaming about him.

Bokuto goes from a problem to be solved, to one that has no possible answer. Integers with imaginary numbers. A formula relying on assumptions. Something that requires a leap of faith to solve, and Akaashi doesn’t leap. He works through things one step at a time, and that’s how he ends up here. At a college party, for a college he doesn’t even go to, watching Bokuto absolutely _destroy_ at beer pong.

He has no reason to be here. Sure, he knows a few of the guys from back in high school, when they would face off over the net, but they’re not exactly friends. His only friend here is Bokuto, and there’s no reason for them to still be friends. They don’t play volleyball together anymore, they don’t go to the same school, and really, honestly, Akaashi should just move on with his life.

But Bokuto won’t let him. Any time Akaashi tries to step away, there’s an arm around his shoulders and a laughing voice asking where he’s going. With that, it’s impossible for him to leave. Because Akaashi loves him, and he can’t just leave Bokuto, knowing exactly how confused and hurt he’ll be. And he sure as hell can’t _tell_ him.

Because Bokuto doesn’t need him. He never did. But Akaashi needs Bokuto, like a plant needs the sun; deeply, desperately, on a cellular level.

And that’s why he comes here, to the parties he hates, where he sits in a corner and watches as the center of his universe glows. He behaves, and he follows Bokuto around, and he cleans up after him even while the love inside of him aches and eats away at his ribs, painfully locked away.

Bokuto finishes off his match of beer pong with a resounding whoop as he sinks both shots in the last cup. There’s no chance for redemption as the owl haired man jumps up on the table, sending ping pong balls and dregs of booze flying while he celebrates.

Akaashi smiles as everyone else laughs and cheers. How could anyone not love him? Everyone in the room can’t help but to watch Bokuto, even those who shake their head at the mess he causes. And Bokuto knows it. Bokuto thrives on it. He’s a man who is made to be loved, and to love in return.

Akaashi feels the smile slip from his face as dark thoughts swirl back in. The jealous thoughts, the ones that Bokuto doesn’t deserve. Because Akaashi should be wanting him to show off, should be happy that Bokuto is happy. And he is, really. But he also wants to be the reason that Bokuto smiles, wants to keep him by his side and touch some part of him that the rest of the world can’t.

But that’s not fair. Bokuto is made to love and be loved by all. Akaashi can never be more than he is right now. A friend. One of the many who is blessed by his presence.

It’s enough.

It has to be.

“Akaaaashi!” Bokuto’s voice interrupts his thoughts, popping out of seemingly nowhere. His grin is infectious, but Akaashi is just a little too drunk and a little too sad to return more than a faint smile.

He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep following Bokuto around and dreaming of more.

“Didja see that?” Bokuto throws himself on the couch next to Akaashi, a solid furnace pressing into his side. He throws an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder without thinking, because of course he does. Because he’s Bokuto, and Bokuto doesn’t need him, and it doesn’t mean anything to him even though it means everything to Akaashi. “I was like-”

“You’re sweaty.” Akaashi cuts off Bokuto’s retelling of his victory, throwing off his arm. Because he’s too tipsy for this, and Bokuto is sweaty, and it’s too much. To feel his arm, heavy and firm on his shoulders, heat leaching into him and surrounding him in his scent, and-

Akaashi cuts off his thoughts before he can stray too far down a dangerous path, scooching away from Bokuto on the couch. He doesn’t do that, normally. He takes every touch he can get from Bokuto, and he tucks them away like treasures. He used to just endure it - Bokuto has always been a physical, affection guy after all - but since he fell in love, he cherishes it. But his brain isn’t right tonight, and Akaashi is worried he might make a mistake if Bokuto keeps touching him.

“‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asks, boisterous attitude flying out the window in a heartbeat as he blinks at Akaashi. Akaashi can hear the confusion in his tone, and he grits his teeth, because he knows it hurts Bokuto when people do things he doesn’t understand. And he wouldn’t be able to understand this sudden change in attitude, because Akaashi never explained it. And he won’t.

He can’t.

“You okay?” Bokuto asks, leaning over the couch towards Akaashi, but not touching him. And god, Akaashi wants him to touch him. Because Bokuto’s cheeks are a little flushed from liquor and fun, and he’s leaning in so close, and Akaashi can’t look away from the curve of his lower lip, and-

“I’m leaving.” Akaashi stands up abruptly, hoping it’s dark enough in the room that Bokuto can’t see the blush he knows is bright on his cheeks. His face feels like it's on fire, and he needs to get out of there. He needs to cool down, before he does something he can’t undo.

“Okay, it’s a little early, but-” Akaashi can hear Bokuto standing up behind him, and his heart flips. Because Bokuto’s willing to leave with him, even though Akaashi knows that he would stay partying for at least another four hours before even considering leaving, normally.

It makes Akaashi feel special, but he grips that little bubble of hope in an iron fist and pops it. He can’t do that. He can’t take Bokuto away from something he loves, not just because Akaashi is having a minor crisis. So he cuts Bokuto off, rougher than he means to.

“No. You stay here. I’ll make my own way back.”

Akaashi doesn’t turn to look behind him as he leaves. He can’t, because his restraint is razor thin right now, and if he sees Bokuto’s face, he’ll break. He knows it. As he flees the party, Akaashi makes a vow to never drink around Bokuto again. Tipsy-Akaashi clearly cannot be trusted.

-

Bokuto isn’t sure what he did wrong. He’s left sitting on a sticky couch in the middle of a roaring party - normally something he loves - but he’s alone. Bokuto is left alone, and he’s never left alone. Maybe briefly, when he’s going somewhere, but even when he’s on the train he’s usually on the phone or texting. He doesn’t like being alone.

Akaashi knows that. Akaashi _knows_ that.

So why did he abandon Bokuto?

It sits in his chest, a hollow ache as he stares at Akaashi’s back, long after he’s slipped from view. Did he do something wrong? It’s a possibility. Bokuto knows he’s a lot to handle. He’s loud, he’s needy, and he doesn’t know how to hide his feelings. But Akaashi has always handled him. He’s always been there, since the first day they met, and he’s never seemed to mind.

Did he figure it out? Bokuto’s big secret?

Someone calls Bokuto over for another drinking game, and he goes, trying to forget. But he is, unfortunately, awesome at all drinking games. Which means that he’s left there, sipping sadly on his beer while everyone else takes shots and jokingly curse him for being too good. Normally he would love it, and he would laugh, and he would boast.

But normally Akaashi is watching him.

Bokuto is no good at hiding his emotions, and soon enough, he’s bringing the game down, pouting while he nurses his drink. Everyone tries to cheer him up, but it's no use. The only one who knows how to stormed away from Bokuto.

And why? What did Bokuto do? He raises his arm and sniffs his armpit, much to the confusion of everyone around him. He doesn’t _think_ he smells that bad, but that’s the only thing he can think of. Akaashi had said he was sweaty, so-

“Kuroo!” Bokuto spots his dark haired friend from across the room, calling out to him. He looks over with a wave, and Bokuto takes that as invitation enough to make his problems Kuroo’s.

He crosses the room, practically throwing himself at Kuroo with his arm raised, “Kuroooo, do I stink that bad?”

Kuroo, familiar with the unpredictable nature of Bokuto, catches him before Bokuto can squish his armpit in his face. From next to them, a quiet voice mumbles, “Gross.”

Bokuto looks down, seeing Kenma playing on his phone, and he droops to the ground next to him. Completely ignoring the way Kenma turns into a statue as soon as he touches him, Bokuto throws himself over Kenma’s lap, whining pathetically.

“Kenma, I’m not that stinky, right?” Bokuto practically whimpers, hiding his face against Kenma’s ripped jeans. Normally he wouldn’t throw himself on just anyone like this, but maybe Bokuto is a little bit drunk, and Akaashi isn’t there to cuddle. Bokuto needs to touch _someone_ , even if it’s not the same.

“Kuroo-” Kenma’s voice is tight and clipped, and Kuroo laughs, just short of a cackle from above them. “Does this look like a joke?”

“N-No,” Kuroo chuckles, getting himself under control as Bokuto clings to Kenma’s thighs, making pathetic sad noises. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

“Now, please-” Kenma grits through his teeth, and then suddenly there are hands underneath Bokuto’s arms, pulling him up. It doesn’t matter to Bokuto, he goes with the movement, turning and clinging to Kuroo just as desperately as he’d been hugging Kenma.

It’s silly and childish. He knows this. But it’s the only thing that makes the painful, rattling thing in his chest feel better.

And it’s best when it’s Akaashi. Even if he can just rest his shoulder against his, or ruffle his hair, or have Akaashi pat his shoulder. That’s enough for Bokuto. Because he loves him, has loved him from the first time he saw him. He’s not smart, but he’s not an idiot. He knows emotions like he knows volleyball, even if he has no control over his own.

And his love is the only one he’s ever hidden. Because he knows it’s too much. Hasn’t tonight shown that? Even with Bokuto holding back, touching him as little as he dares to, Akaashi still got fed up with him. He already does _so much_ for Bokuto every day, Bokuto can’t ask for more.

As Bokuto falls deeper into his emo mood, Kuroo drags him from the house into the backyard, a sad, very beefy koala attached to his side. The fresh air sobers him up a little, but it does nothing to improve Bokuto’s mood. Kuroo finds a pile of questionable cushions to settle them in, and Bokuto sniffles against his neck.

“I don’t smell-” Bokuto starts again, but Kuroo cuts him off with a roll of his eyes.

“No, you don’t smell that bad. What, exactly, is your obsession with smelling bad tonight? Also, how drunk are you?” Kuroo cuts right to the heart of the point, pushing the middle of Bokuto’s forehead lightly with one finger, forcing him from being fully wrapped around Kuroo.

He lets go, rolling over to lay pressed against Kuroo’s side. It’s enough, although the rattly thing in his chest starts to shake a little. He can manage it. Bokuto frowns, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m not that drunk. And Akaashi said I was sweaty.”

Kuroo snorts, “Well, you are, but I hardly see how that’s enough to warrant this.”

“You don’t understand, Kuroo!” Bokuto pushes himself into a sitting position, turning to glare at Kuroo, who simply tucks his hands behind his head and quirks one eyebrow in a questioning gesture. “He said I was sweaty and then he left!”

“So… this is because Akaashi went home?” Kuroo prompts, and Bokuto frowns.

“No. Well, yes, but-”

“Bo, he doesn’t like parties. It’s a surprise he comes at all. I wouldn’t get so upset over him leaving early.” Kuroo shrugs a lazy shoulder, words entirely correct, yet still totally wrong. Bokuto shakes his head pouting a little.

“It’s not that he left early. He left _without me_. Do you think he hates me?” Bokuto asks in a small, very honest voice.

Kuroo, to his credit, thinks about it. He’s silent for a minute, humming and looking up at the stars above them. Bokuto waits with his breath held, because Kuroo is smart. Not as smart as Akaashi, of course, but he’s smarter than Bokuto. So he waits, paintently, until Kuroo looks back over at him with a smile.

“I don’t think he could hate you if he wanted to,” Kuroo says confidently.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bokuto asks, brow deeply furrowed.

“Just go home, Bo. Trust me, it’ll be fine.” Kuroo laughs lightly, not explaining anything. Bokuto frowns a little, not understanding. But, then again, there’s a lot he doesn’t understand. And he does trust Kuroo.

So he does as he says. He goes home, hours before he normally would. And he tucks himself into bed, curls up all comfy cozy, and as he always does, sends a good night message to Akaashi. He locks his phone, closes his eyes, and tells himself that Akaashi doesn’t hate him.

-

Akaashi wakes up and checks his phone and immediately regrets it. Because of course, even after he abandoned Bokuto at the party, Bokuto still texted him, same as he does every night. Just a little message and a cute owl sticker, showing up in the notification preview when Akaashi swipes down on it. He could just open the message, but for some reason, he hesitates.

It’s bad, lately. Akaashi thought he was doing okay handling his feelings. But he just keeps wanting, yearning for more. If yesterday’s party proved anything, it proved that. That Akaashi can’t just be content with what he has.

He hates it. Bokuto doesn’t deserve this. He deserves a friend who can be by his side without making everything weird. Without dreaming about holding his hand, or kissing him, or licking the salt from his skin-

Akaashi draws in a sharp breath, pushing himself up. There’s no use in lazing around in bed being miserable. He might as well be productive and miserable. So he stands, looking down at the phone in his hand one more time. Squeezing his eyes closed, he swipes away the notification, clearing the message without opening it to leave a read stamp. It’s cowardly to hide from a simple text conversation with Bokuto, but he can’t. 

Just- Not right now.

Akaashi decides to clean his apartment, even though it’s already pretty clean. It doesn’t distract him nearly enough, but then his phone goes off, and it’s one of his coworkers asking if he can cover a shift at his part time job.

Speak of good fortune.

Akaashi accepts without hesitation, receiving gratitude he feels unworthy of. After all, he’s not actually doing it to help out his coworker, just to distract himself. It just happens to be beneficial to them both.

So Akaashi gets dressed and fills the time trying hard not to think about Bokuto. It’s hard. They usually see each other nearly every day of the week. Bokuto doesn’t live too far away, and he has a habit of letting himself into Akaashi’s house and eating his food. It should be annoying.

It should be. But Akaashi also shouldn’t be in love with his best friend.

He looks through his cupboards, but all of his food just makes him think of Bokuto. How he likes it prepared, which ones are his favourites, what makes him stick his tongue out in disgust. Akaashi groans, dropping his forehead against the wall.

“I’m sick,” he says to his empty apartment. He’s not sure why he halfway expects to hear Bokuto respond.

Akaashi closes his cupboards. Gives up on food. Goes to work. Tries to forget things for a bit, but it’s a slow day at the convenience store. Akaashi _hates_ slow days. He catches up on all the cleaning no one else does, does all his actual responsibilities, helps the handful of customers that come in, and still has hours left. It’s not nearly enough to take his mind off of-

“Hey hey hey! Akaashi!” Bokuto’s voice cuts into Akaashi’s thoughts along with the chime of the door opening and he looks up, startled. His heart swells as Bokuto walks over to him, smiling, without a care in the world.

He wouldn’t be able to smile like that if he knew. Akaashi knows Bokuto is too nice to hate him, but he also knows it would change things. It would be weird. Bokuto probably wouldn’t hug him anymore.

Fuck, Akaashi needs to stop thinking about it so much. He’s better than this, dammit.

“Bokuto,” he says in greeting, nodding at the others who walk in behind Bokuto. Classmates, if he had to guess. They peruse the aisles of the convenience store as Bokuto leans on Akaashi’s counter.

“I didn’t know you worked today.”

_It doesn’t mean anything_ , Akaashi tells himself, _You’re not special just because he knows when you work._

“I didn’t.” Akaashi replies shortly. He’s not sure what else to say. What does he normally talk to Bokuto about? Why can’t he just be normal?

“Are you mad?” Bokuto asks, tipping his head to the side. No buildup, no shame in asking such a bald question. Typical Bokuto.

“No,” Akaashi responds smoothly, dropping his eyes. He picks up the cloth next to his till, wiping down the already spotless counter. He has to do something, to avoid the way Bokuto looks at him.

He has to keep himself from reading too much into it. This is just how Bokuto is. Akaashi isn’t anything special.

“Why didn’t you text me today?” Bokuto asks, guilt flashing through Akaashi at his words. He thinks of the cleared notification and has a brief moment of worry that Bokuto might have been lonely.

But no, Bokuto’s friends are over there in a corner, picking out a smorgasbord of snacks. Bokuto is never lonely. If Akaashi doesn’t text him one day, he’s not going to die. And besides, it’s probably better this way. Since Akaashi can’t control himself, he should make some space between them, even if it’s hard.

Even if it hurts.

“I was busy,” Akaashi lies. He’s been trying to be busy, but the universe is against him today, apparently.

“But-” Bokuto starts, but at that moment, his friends come up with their haul, laughing and joking around, and Akaashi has an excuse to ignore him. He rings everything through, polite and professional, and he doesn’t look at Bokuto as the group grab their bags and head out.

He can’t.

He can’t do this anymore.

-

“So that’s Akaashi, huh? The one you always talk about?” One of Bokuto’s classmates prompts. He’s pretty sure he knows her name. He just can’t think of it right now because his thoughts are full of Akaashi.

He wouldn’t even look at Bokuto. He said he wasn’t mad, but… What other explanation is there?

“Yeah,” Bokuto mumbles in response, absentminded as the rest of the group laughs about something some celebrity did. Bokuto wants to join them, he wants to laugh, but something about it is wrong.

“He’s not exactly how I pictured him,” the girl - Nobara? Maybe? - hums thoughtfully as she pops a chip in her mouth. “But I guess people do tend to talk up their crushes when they talk about them.”

That cuts through Bokuto’s thoughts, sharp and clear as a perfect spike slamming into the ground. He gapes up at her, the epitome of shock and surprise.

“How did you know?!” He exclaims, loud enough that the rest of the group looks over with curious glances. Nobara looks at him for a level moment before breaking into laughter.

“No, no who told you? Who could have told you, I didn’t tell anyone…” Bokuto trails off, frowning and chewing on the rim of his soda can. The fact that he likes Akaashi is Bokuto’s big secret. He’s been so good about it. How did she find out? Is she a witch?

“I’m sorry-” Nobara giggles, wiping tears from her eyes, slowly getting herself under control. She chuckles a few more times before managing to look up at Bokuto and explain, “Did you think you were being subtle?”

Bokuto thinks about it for a moment. Thinks about how he wants to talk about nothing other than how pretty Akaashi is - well, that and volleyball. How he wants to carry Akaashi everywhere, just so they’re not separated even for a second. How he wants to have Akaashi as the background on his phone but he _settled_ for a selfie of the two of them because he didn’t want to be obvious. All the things he wants, but he compromises, and only brags about Akaashi fifty percent of the time.

Okay, maybe it’s more like sixty.

“Well,” Bokuto says after a moment, pursing his lips, “Yeah.”

The rest of the group, shamelessly eavesdropping, busts out in laughter just as Nobara had. There’s a hand clapped on Bokuto’s shoulder as confusion runs rampant through his brain.

“Buddy, you are the least subtle person on the planet. I thought you knew.”

“Wha- no! I’m subtle! I can be subtle!” Bokuto protests, prompting even more laughter.

Okay, maybe they’re right. Maybe Bokuto is obvious about a lot of things. They gently tease him about it, and Bokuto goes along with it, but worry begins to worm its way into his chest.

If they all knew, is it possible? That Akaashi figured it out?

Is that why he’s mad?

Bokuto doesn’t want to be a burden, but he has to know. By the time he parts from his classmates, he’s sent a half dozen texts to Akaashi, even though he knows he won’t read them yet. He doesn’t even keep his phone on him at work, and Bokuto knows this. Just like he knows Akaashi’s favourite colour, what kind of music he likes, what his five, ten, and twenty year goals are.

He knows everything about Akaashi. Except for why he won’t talk to him. And even though it scares Bokuto, the big, shiny prospect of rejection, he just has to know.

-

Bokuto keeps texting him. Akaashi deletes them all. He reads them, of course, because he loves to suffer. Opens the preview, looks at the sad stickers, reads the questions. The begging. The bargaining. The confusion. Bokuto is lost and confused, and it’s all Akaashi’s fault because he forgot how to be his friend. Because he’s greedy.

Akaashi’s manager is looking to hire someone to work the night shift. Akaashi volunteers. It comes with a new schedule and more hours. It’s hell, working through the night and going to school in the morning, but it means he doesn’t run into Bokuto at work. And, as days bleed together into some grey, meaningless blob, it means Akaashi is too tired to potentially go over to Bokuto’s and make a mistake.

He knows this isn’t right. This isn’t how he should end things. He probably shouldn’t even end things at all. Because he knows Bokuto is hurting - he reads it in all the texts he doesn’t open - and it isn’t fair to him. It’s not Bokuto’s fault, yet he has to pay the price.

Akaashi doesn’t go to parties. He doesn’t hang out with anyone. It doesn’t feel right, without Bokuto. He barely eats, picking at flavourless noodles. There’s something missing from his life and he knows exactly what it is.

Everything is wrong, but this is the way it has to be. That’s what Akaashi tells himself, while he’s curled up around the pit in his stomach, trying to nap in the break between the never ending cycle of school and work.

-

Bokuto tries to be good. He tries to be patient. He only sends, like, a quarter of the messages he wants to. And okay, maybe they’re a little desperate as the days go on, but he’s a little desperate, okay? Akaashi isn’t even _reading_ the texts, and he’s not at work, and Bokuto is banned from his campus for one itsy bitsy mistake involving lighter fluid and a pineapple.

At first, Bokuto is worried he’s mad. Then he’s worried that Akaashi is leaving him behind, moving on with his life. Then he simply becomes worried if Akaashi is okay.

He asks him.

_r u okay?_

_r u alive?_

_pls kaashi just tell me ur okay_

_im srry_

The messages get sent. Marked as received. Never read. The thing in Bokuto’s chest bounces around, bruising the soft tissue of his heart. He clings to his friends until they pry him off, and it doesn’t help near enough, it doesn’t work, because he doesn’t even know if Akaashi is _okay_.

He’s not fun at parties anymore, so he stops going. He knows it’s concerning his friends, but no one really knows what to do. Kuroo comes the closest, bringing over junk food and letting Bokuto curl up against him as they watch terrible American comedies. Normally it would be excellent, but now, it’s just enough to help Bokuto get through.

If Akaashi was so fed up with him, why couldn’t he just tell Bokuto? Bokuto could change. Or, at the very least, Akaashi could have given him some closure. One day, they were fine, and the next, Akaashi is just a memory, and Bokuto doesn’t know how to handle it.

So he doesn’t. He mopes his way through his days, and there’s barely a second in the day that he doesn’t wonder what went wrong.

-

He sleeps with a girl. He doesn’t even want to, but he does it anyway.

No, that’s not true. Akaashi does want to sleep with her. She’s perfect, all rosy cheeks and soft skin and giggles while he kisses down her throat. She’s exactly his type of woman. Soft and sweet, but still bold enough to purr in his ear and whisper all manner of filthy things while he tastes her skin.

He should be happy. He should enjoy it.

He doesn’t.

All he can thinks about is white hair and owl eyes, and muscles that he can trace with his fingers, and that deep, intoxicating voice moaning his name, and-

Akaashi doesn’t finish. He gets her off, in other ways, and mumbles an apology while she pouts. She laughs it off, because she’s perfect, and gives him her number in case he wants to try again some other day.

He deletes it immediately.

Who is he kidding? He doesn’t want anyone else. He can try to distract himself, to lose himself in another person, but that’s not right. That’s not fair to the other person. If he can’t have Bokuto, Akaashi can’t have anyone at all.

It hurts.

Every night, when Bokuto sends him a good night text - the other texts have stopped, but Bokuto still keeps to his habit, he still _tries_ \- he deletes it without opening it. He could block him, but- He can’t. Akaashi can’t open the text, he can’t respond, and he can’t block him.

He’s useless.

He’s in love.

He hurts.

But what else can he do?

-

Bokuto just wants to see him. He tells himself that. He just wants to see Akaashi one more time. He won’t touch him, he won’t ask him any questions, he won’t do anything to upset him. He just needs to see his face, to see if he’s okay.

He’s lying to himself, but that’s okay. Where has honesty gotten him, anyway? And lying got him here. Sitting against Akaashi’s door, resting his head on the familiar wood, waiting in the cold for Akaashi to come home.

He’ll have to, at some point. And Bokuto will step out of the way, and let him go into his apartment, and he’ll be okay because he’ll know that Akaashi is alive, and okay, and Bokuto won’t ask for more.

He’s lying, but Akaashi isn’t here to call him out for it, so he closes his eyes, just resting them for a minute.

He’ll come home.

Eventually.

-

Akaashi buys groceries even though he doesn’t want to. It’s an unavoidable fact that food doesn’t taste as good without Bokuto sitting on his couch, shovelling ramen in his mouth, not stopping to chew before he spouts praise. Memories twist in Akaashi’s chest like a knife, and he nearly trips going up the stairs. He blames it on the ice. It’s cold enough for there to be ice, anyway.

He allows the painful, happy memories to seep into his mind, a masochist through and through, wallowing in the pain. He has no one to blame but himself. He’s the one who cut Bokuto out. He’s the one who fell in love in the first place. If it wasn’t for his own inability to be a normal friend, they could still be hanging out. He could still hear Bokuto’s laugh, and lean up against him while they binge watch terrible American tv shows.

Akkashi trudges up the last flight of stairs, suddenly exhausted by the sheer activity of living. He hopes he’ll have enough energy to put the groceries away, cooking definitely a write off for the day. Maybe he can cook tomorrow. Or maybe he’ll just throw everything out in a week when it all goes bad.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t even see the shape in front of his door until he’s halfway there. His brain stumbles along a few paces behind him, not recognizing it until well after he’s come to a stop.

White hair. Broad shoulders. Sweet, innocent face as familiar to Akaashi as his own, relaxed in slumber, breath puffing in the cold air.

There’s a million questions in Akaashi’s mind, all scrambling to be heard at once. How is he here? Why is he here? How long has he been waiting? Doesn’t he hate Akaashi yet? Isn’t he cold?

“Bokuto.” Akaashi doesn’t mean to say his name. But it falls from his lips all the same, sounding loud as a gunshot in the silence of the night. Loud enough to wake the sleeping man, who blinks slowly, looking up at Akaashi and smiling like all is right with the world.

It hurts.

He’s so beautiful, and Akaashi has missed him so much, and he loves him so much it _hurts_. He drops his groceries, vegetables long forgotten, clutching at his chest. He’s certain that if he looks down right now, Akaashi would see blood seeping through his shirt, flowing freely from his pathetic heart.

“‘Kaashi.” Bokuto’s voice is deep and gummy with sleepiness, and he sniffles a little. He must have been waiting for a while. 

Akaashi’s eyes well with tears, and he wants to throw himself at Bokuto. He wants to bury himself in those strong arms and apologize for everything, and never leave.

But Akaashi isn’t one for leaps of faith. He works through every problem methodically, and he doesn’t know the next step here. He’s drowning, flailing around hopelessly, and he doesn’t know what to do.

So he does what he’s been doing for weeks now.

Akaashi turns on his heel, and he runs.

-

Bokuto wakes up to his name, to a voice he’s missed so much, and for a brief moment, all is right with the world. He’s freezing, of course, and his body hurts from falling asleep in such a terrible place, but Akaashi is there. He’s in front of Bokuto, and he said his name, and Bokuto can’t help but smile.

But then reality sinks in. Akaashi drops a bag, his fingers clawing at his chest as if there’s something he needs to dig out. His expression is distraught, and he looks like hell. Dark shadows under his eyes, gaunt cheekbones, mismatched clothes. Bokuto may not be the most observant of others, but he knows Akaashi, and he knows something is wrong.

He’s going to ask, despite his earlier vow.

But then Akaashi runs. He turns away from Bokuto, and it’s like lightning striking his soul; painful, jarring, and life changing. He can’t let him leave. Not again. 

Bokuto is moving before he can think about it. Just like when he spikes a ball, his body is moving, brain not needed to get the job done. He thunders to his feet, crosses the distance between them before Akaashi can make it more than a dozen steps, and he pulls him into his arms, crushing him to his chest.

And this, this is right. Even as they over balance a little, Bokuto stumbling as he attempts to keep them upright, it’s right. The shaky thing in his chest is finally still, soothed by the weight of the man in his arms. How could Bokuto ever think he could just see him and not talk to him? Not touch him? It was always going to go this way. There was no way that he could let him go, not again. Bokuto knows that it’s too much to ask, but he can’t care. Not anymore, not now that he has Akaashi back in his arms.

“Let me go,” Akaashi’s voice is raw, and Bokuto knows he should listen. He should be good, he should obey Akaashi like he always does. But he buries his nose in the back of Akaashi’s neck, breathing in deep and shaking his head.

“No,” he mutters against his skin. Akaashi trembles in his arms, and Bokuto knows he’ll hate him for this, but he can’t care right now. He can’t be left alone again. The thing in his chest, it’ll come loose, and it’ll kill him. He needs this, he needs to convince him, somehow.

Bokuto is an honest person. He can’t keep lying. Even if Akaashi ends up hating him, he has to tell the truth.

“Bokuto, let me go!” There are fingers pressing against his arms, but Bokuto holds strong. He clenches his eyes shut, shaking his head again. He’s not going to do anything bad, he just can’t let him go. Not right now.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Akaashi, I just- why can’t I hug you?” Bokuto’s voice chokes up, the pain of being cut out with no explanation welling up and stealing his words. Tears flood his eyes, and he doesn’t try to stop them, shaking against Akaashi’s back as the hands on his arms still. “What did I do so wrong?”

“Bo-”

“I know I’m a lot to handle, but I can be better, if you just tell me-”

“Bo-”

Bokuto stumbles along, words vomiting along with emotion despite Akaashi’s attempt to interrupt him, “-I can change, Akaashi, I can give you space, or I can stop partying, I’ll shower more, if you just tell me-”

“B-”

“-just tell me what I did wrong, please, I can’t lose you-”

“Bokuto!” Akaashi shouts, and Bokuto jumps. Akaashi never shouts. He shuts up immediately, kicking himself internally because he can say all that nonsense, but he still hasn’t said what he actually needs to.

“Don’t change.” Akaashi’s voice is shaky, and his fingers dig into Bokuto’s forearms, not pushing him away anymore, but more like he’s holding on. Gripping onto something to keep himself grounded. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Then why-” Bokuto starts, and Akaashi cuts him off with a laugh.

It’s not a good laugh. It’s bitter and painful, and it makes Bokuto pull his arms tighter, to try to soothe whatever dark thing is making Akaashi make that noise. It’s a laugh that speaks of loathing and bad things, and Bokuto hates it. He presses his face into Akaashi’s neck, not knowing what else to do.

“Because I love you.”

There they are. The words that Bokuto meant to say. But Akaashi beat him to it. And Bokuto should be happy, he should be over the moon, cheering and kissing him.

But it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. Akaashi said it, but he said it likes it’s something bad. Something shameful, rather than the beautiful, wondrous thing it is. And he’s still talking.

“I love you so much that I want to keep you for myself. I want to hide you away. But then you wouldn’t be you. Do you understand, Bokuto? We can’t be friends anymore, because I can’t control my own damn feelings and I want so much more, I can’t just be happy with what I have. You’re perfect, and I ruined it all.”

It hurts. Bokuto feels like he just took a cross shot right to the chest. How can Akaashi think that? How can he think being in love would ruin anything? Has he been hurting like this, the whole time, thinking that somehow Bokuto wouldn’t be thrilled if he knew?

“So you see it now, right? You have to let me go, because I can’t let you go.”

Bokuto feels something wet fall on his hand. It isn’t raining. Akaashi pushes at his arm again, but once more Bokuto doesn’t release him.

“Do you think I ruined everything too, then?” Bokuto asks. Akaashi shakes his head, soft hair brushing against Bokuto’s face.

“Are you not listening-”

“I love you.” The words come out. It doesn’t kill him. The world doesn’t end. Akaashi goes stiff as a statue in his arms, but now Bokuto has started talking, and he can’t stop. “I love you too. I’ve loved you since I first saw you, Akaashi.”

“No-” Akaashi says, in a tiny voice, and Bokuto can’t handle not seeing his face anymore. He grabs his arms and spins him around, staring into his eyes as Akaashi’s hands fly up to cover his mouth.

He’s a mess. His eyes are red and wet with tears, an agony Bokuto may never understand painted across his features as clear as day. But it’s _Akaashi_ , and he’ll never not be beautiful to Bokuto. He looks like the moon and the stars at night, mysterious and entrancing, and Bokuto couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

He reaches up, brushing Akaashi’s hands away to cup his face in his hands. Akaashi tries to look away, so Bokuto leans in, until he has nowhere to look but at him. He wants Akaashi looking at him. He wants him to see nothing else, to think of nothing other than Bokuto. He wants too much, but that’s okay.

Akaashi can handle him. He always has.

“I love you,” Bokuto repeats the confession, and this time he says it right. He says it soft, like the sweet, tender thing it is. He whispers it on a cloud of breath, ghosting away into the chill night air. He leaves no room in the words for confusion, no place for doubt.

And Akaashi meets his eyes, lower lip trembling as more tears spill over. Bokuto brushes them away, hating that he’s making Akaashi cry. Even if he still looks pretty while he cries.

“You’re not lying?” Akaashi asks, and Bokuto simply frowns. Why would he lie about something like this? The thought is so bizarre that he can’t think of an answer, and Akaashi laughs. Bokuto perks up at the sound of it. It’s not the bitter laugh from before. A little sad, perhaps, and a touch hysterical, but it almost sounds like Akaashi.

“What am I saying? Of course you’re not,” Akkashi shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Yeah!” Bokuto exclaims, eager like a puppy at the small, fond smile that curls just at the edges of Akaashi’s mouth, “I wouldn’t lie to you. I love you.”

Akaashi blushes, and Bokuto’s body moves before he thinks, again. He leans in, kissing the flush on Akaashi’s cheek, feeling the heat seep into his cold lips. He can feel the intake of breath when Akaashi gasps, and Bokuto swears he didn’t mean anything by it, but the mood changes with that gasp. Suddenly, Bokuto is helpless to do anything other than press sweet kisses to Akaashi’s cheeks, his forehead, his temples.

He does it because he wants to. Because he can. Because they love each other.

Akaashi _loves him_. It makes Bokuto giddy and energetic, the sorrow and agony of the last weeks washing away like it never even mattered in the first place.

It’s when he kisses the tip of his chin that Akaashi finally touches Bokuto, hands going to his shoulders and pushing him back a little. Bokuto whines at distance, but any complaints die in his throat at the look on Akaashi’s face. He’s so damn cute, all pink and embarrassed, lips parted against little panted breaths as he meets Bokuto’s eyes with the sexiest gaze he’s ever seen.

“Are you going to kiss me properly?” Akaashi asks, voice steady even as the red tones deepen on his cheeks.

And Bokuto almost does it. He almost throws caution to the wind and does exactly what he’s been dreaming of. But there’s a chill wind whipping around them, and Bokuto is honest. He knows that he’s not going to be content with just kissing Akaashi. Not right now, after everything they’ve been through.

And so he tells him that, leaning in to let his voice purr directly into Akaashi’s ear. “Are you sure you want me to kiss you out here? Where everyone can see? I don’t mind, but you know me, Akaashi, you know I don’t know when to stop.”

Bokuto grins when he hears Akaashi swallow, fidgeting at the statement. It’s not Bokuto’s fault, okay. It’s just that he likes him so, so much, he can’t help but tease him. And it’s not like it’s a lie, Bokuto does have a tendency to get carried away.

-

That’s how they end up in Akaashi’s apartment. His apartment that he hasn’t cleaned in far too long. Any other time, he would be ashamed of the state of it. But his mind is a little preoccupied as Bokuto presses him up against his door, a wall of intensity, locking him in place with his gaze.

He loves him. He loves him. Akaashi still can’t quite believe it, but why not? Bokuto is honest to a fault. He doesn’t have it in him to play such a cruel prank.

And besides, Akaashi can see it. It’s obvious in his eyes, and he doesn’t know how he missed it before now. Probably because every time Bokuto was looking at him, Akaashi was desperate to fix his gaze anywhere else. Trying not to get burned.

But god, how good it feels to lean into the flame.

Bokuto leans towards him, but Akaashi can’t wait. He’s done enough waiting, enough being hesitant and foolish. He throws his arms around Bokuto’s neck, threading his hands into the wild hair he’s wanted to tangle them in for years. He pulls him down, or pushes himself up, he’s not quite sure. Either way, their lips meet, and it’s perfect.

It’s not, really. Or it shouldn’t be. Objectively, their teeth clack together, and there’s too much spit, lips parting against each other in a hurry. But it feels so right. It’s messy, and rushed, and exactly what Akaashi needs. What he’s dreamed about, arching into Bokuto, feeling large, strong hands press against his back, holding him tight.

Akaashi moans into the kiss, and he feels Bokuto’s finger dig into his shirt. Much to his regret, Bokuto pulls away, panting and looking at Akaashi like he’s some kind of holy revelation.

“‘Kaashi,” Bokuto breathes his nickname into the room, and damn, how is it possible for his voice to get better? All pitched deep and rumbly with desire, it sends a gorgeous shiver straight through Akaashi, “Do that again.”

Bokuto leans in and begins mouthing at Akaashi’s neck, causing his knees to tremble as he tries to remember how to speak. He would be worried about falling, but Bokuto’s grip on him is so strong that Akaashi has no fear. Instead he shakes, twisting his fingers in Bokuto’s hair as he feels teeth slide in a tease over his skin.

“D-Do what?” Akaashi asks, brain trying to process the situation beyond registering it as absolutely, overwhelmingly hot.

“Make that noise,” Bokuto mumbles against his skin, and Akaashi bites back a whimper, “Moan for me.”

_Fuck._ Akaashi thinks he could probably finish if Bokuto just keeps talking to him like that. But he wants more. When it comes to Bokuto, he should content himself with what he has, but he always wants more.

But Bokuto wants him too. So Akaashi drags his nails over his scalp, relishing in the shiver he gets in response, and he speaks in a sultry purr.

“Make me.”

And _that_ is how he ends up thrown onto the couch, gasping as Bokuto crawls over top of him. They didn’t bother to turn the lights on, the only source of illumination the street lights creeping through Akaashi’s window, and he swears it makes Bokuto’s eyes glow. There’s no other explanation for how he looks like a predator, all muscle and power as he crowds above him.

Akaashi wants him to devour him whole.

He might have said some of that out loud, because Bokuto grins, descending on him and capturing Akaashi’s mouth once more. It’s slower than before, but twice as filthy. Their lips slide together like they were made to kiss each other, and Bokuto licks into Akaashi’s mouth, stealing their air from his lungs.

He intended to make Bokuto work for it, but he can’t help himself. Akaashi moans into the kiss again. It just feels so good, so right in all the ways nothing has for a while. He drinks in the curse Bokuto mutters against his lips, chasing every taste of him that he can get.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto breaks from his lips, chest heaving, saying his name like it’s a sin. His voice goes straight to Akaashi’s dick, which he’s pretty sure is harder than it’s ever been in his life. Just from a few kisses.

Just from Bokuto.

Akaashi takes advantage of the breather to slide his hands up under Bokuto’s sweater. He’s wearing a shirt underneath, but even through that, Akaashi can feel his muscles. He knows Bokuto is ripped, lord knows that Bokuto takes his shirt off every chance he gets, but it’s suddenly different. Now that he gets to touch him exactly how he wants, that he doesn’t have to pretend, it’s like he’s discovering everything for the first time.

Akaashi leans up, licking a stripe up the side of Bukto’s neck as he maps out as much of his torso as he can reach, movements frustratingly limited by clothing. Who thought clothes were a good idea in the first place? Bokuto shudders against him as Akaashi nips at his jaw. He groans, a deep, resounding noise that Akaashi wants to hear every second of every day.

“Ah- Akaash- We should stop if you don’t want-” Bokuto stumbles over his words, and Akaashi chuckles against his throat. There’s the Bokuto he loves, so sweet and considerate, even though Akaashi is sure he’s at least half as desperate as Akaashi is right now.

Following up on that thought, Akaashi slides one hand out from under Bokuto’s sweater, allowing the other to wrap around and play over the muscles in his back. He can feel them flex under his hand as Bokuto whines, and damn how did Akaashi get so lucky? He presses another kiss to Bokuto’s neck, dropping his free hand to palm him through his pants.

And yeah, Bokuto is definitely into this. Very, _very_ into this. Lucky does not even begin to cover Akaashi’s current situation.

“ _Shit_.” Bokuto gasps as Akaashi lightly presses the heel of his hand against him.

“Bokuto, what about this makes you think I want to stop?” Akaashi purrs, rubbing him gently and committing every little gasp and tremble to memory.

“I just- I don’t want to scare you off again.” Bokuto spills the words in a jumble, and Akaashi’s heart squeezes painfully. He has half a mind to be overwhelmed by guilt, but he fights back that instinct. Guilt and pity and self loathing will get him nowhere, and Bokuto deserves better than that.

So, instead, Akaashi slides his hands off of Bokuto’s body, to wrap his arms around his shoulders once more. He waits for Bokuto to open his eyes and look at him, before speaking in a solemn, sincere voice.

“I’ll never leave you again.”

It’s a promise. A vow. Words that Akaashi will live by for the rest of his life, and be happy with. And, more importantly than that, it seems to be exactly what Bokuto needed to hear.

“I love you,” Bokuto says after a beat, and Akaashi chuckles, looking up into those honest, beautiful eyes.

“I believe you. You don’t have to keep telling me, you know,” Akaashi teases, even though those words are the most beautiful words he’s ever heard. Bokuto tips his head to the side, a look of honest confusion on his face.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks. So sweet. So considerate.

“Never,” Akaashi mutters, before reaching up to kiss him again.

This time it’s Bokuto’s hands that explore Akaashi’s body, and Bokuto is far less patient with clothes. He makes adorable, irritated noises as he strips Akaashi’s jacket off, followed in short order by his shirt. They are cast somewhere off into the shadows of his living room, and Akaashi couldn’t care in the slightest where they end up. Because Bokuto immediately descends on the skin exposed to him, his mouth hot against Akaashi’s chest.

Rational thought leaves Akaashi’s mind as Bokuto kisses and bites at his ribs, leaving little marks that Akaashi hopes will last. He wants to remember this, he wants to look in the mirror in the morning and know that this wasn’t a dream.

In the meantime, however, he is helpless to do anything other than dig his fingers into Bokuto’s still tragically clothed shoulders, arching into his touch and choking back all manner of noises.

“‘Kaashi.” Bokuto breathes against his skin, sliding the flat of his tongue over one of Akaashi’s nipples. Akaashi flinches, one hand flying to his mouth to cover a gasp. “I love you.”

It’s ridiculous. Akaashi has heard it half a dozen times by now. He knows it’s true.

Yet still, he whimpers as Bokuto kisses the words into his chest, saying them like a holy mantra. They’re just words, but _god_ they’re good words.

“Bo, please-” Akaashi whines, surprised at how needy his own voice is. But there’s nothing left in him to be ashamed of it, not now. Maybe later, but for the time being, he’s too full of desire for that. He pulls uselessly at the back of Bokuto’s hoodie, desperate to feel skin on skin.

Bokuto, ever the gentleman, obliges, shrugging his top off and discarding sweater and shirt alike in the wake of Akaashi’s. He sits back on his heels, nestled between Akaashi’s thighs, and stretches.

Akaashi isn’t religious. He’s always thought he was too analytical for that. But looking at Bokuto’s naked chest as he smiles down at him- Akaashi is willing to consider some things.

Bokuto knows how good he looks. Of course he does. Akaashi is sure he’s posing and flexing to look his best, and he doesn’t care how silly that is. Because Akaashi forgets how to breathe, air tripping up on its way to his lungs, and Bokuto chuckles.

“Like what you see?” Bokuto teases, and Akaashi knows he shouldn’t feed his ego. He knows how dangerous that can be. But also-

“Yeah.”

He can’t help himself. Akaashi pushes himself up, shuffling and shifting until he can press his mouth against Bokuto’s stomach. He can feel his abs jump at the contact, and Akaashi chases the movement with his tongue, trailing open mouthed kisses across his abdomen. Across, and down, towards the stiff denim waistband, as Bokuto’s hands fall to his head.

He wants it. He wants this so bad. He wants to taste him, to swallow him down and make Bokuto feel so impossibly good. Akaashi’s mouth waters at the thought, and he leans down further, nuzzling Bokuto’s erection through his pants.

“Ah- I won’t-” Bokuto mutters something, but Akaashi’s mind is a little preoccupied. He rubs his cheek over the clothed bulge once more, looking up with an inquisitive hum as he belatedly registers the fact that Bokuto was speaking.

And fuck. He looks half wrecked already. Pupils blown wide, breath falling hot and heavy from his lips, fingers twisted in Akaashi’s hair. Akaashi aches to have Bokuto inside of him, but more than that, he wants to make him fall apart. There will be time for other things later, but this, this is the only thing on Akaashi’s mind right now.

He drops his gaze, opening his mouth against the jeans. The denim, obviously, tastes like fabric, but he can feel the hard heat of Bokuto behind it, and simply the thought of it makes Akaashi moan.

“ _Shit_ , Akaashi,” Bokuto curses, his whole body jerking. Confusingly, he pulls Akaashi away from him. Akaashi would be irritated, but the feeling on Bokuto’s strong fingers pulling on his hair does shameful things to him.

“‘Kaashi, please, there’s no way I’ll last if you keep that up,” Bokuto explains in a rush. 

And that makes sense, but also that makes _no sense at all_. Why should that be a reason for Akaashi to stop? He wants to make Bokuto feel good, wants to make him fall apart, wants to apologize with his lips and tongue.

And so he tells him that. No more keeping things to himself. No more half truths and pretending. Akaashi reaches up to place one hand in the middle of Bokuto’s chest, pushing him to recline back against the armrest of the couch. Bokuto goes, easy as anything.

They’re going to make a mess of his couch.

Akaashi has an upholstery cleaner. It’s fine.

“I don’t care if you last,” Akaashi mutters against the v of Bokuto’s hip, casually popping the button of his jeans, “I want to make you feel good.”

Above him there’s a string of curses mixed together with variants of his name, but Bokuto doesn’t stop Akaashi when he lowers his mouth again, so Akaashi carries on. He undoes Bokuto’s jeans fully, pulling them down his thighs.

And god those thighs. Akaashi has been distracted by thoughts of those thighs for longer than he can recall. And now he gets to touch them, not just steal glances and imagine. He runs his hands over the firm muscles, tasting the skin he has dreamed of for so long.

It turns out Bokuto is loud, entirely unsurprisingly. He groans and whines as Akaashi teases his way up his thighs, leaving hickies where no one other than him will see. The sight of the bruised, marked skin makes Akaashi’s breath stutter, his progress pausing as he grinds his hips into the couch.

It’s not enough for him to get any relief. But this isn’t about him. So Akaashi ignores his own aching, throbbing need, continuing until he meets his goal.

He debates teasing Bokuto further, mouthing him through his tented boxers. But Bokuto is making some fantastically desperate noises already, and Akaashi isn’t feeling too patient himself. So he settles for running his hand over Bokuto’s covered erection once, just as a preview, before pulling down the last layer separating them.

Akaashi has seen Bokuto naked before. He’s seen everyone on their old team naked, in baths and changing rooms. He knew, before this, that Bokuto was well endowed.

That doesn’t stop him from being stunned into stillness for a moment when Bokuto springs free, heavy and flushed in the dim light.

Akaashi is lucky.

He’s so, so lucky.

“Nnn, Akaashi, please,” Bokuto whines, gone beyond the point of bragging or teasing, hips bucking into the air just a little. It draws Akaashi out of his appreciative reverie, and _right_ , he has a job to do here.

You know what they say; do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.

Akaashi takes it to heart, dragging his tongue up the underside of Bokuto’s cock and finally, _finally_ getting to feel the heat of him directly. To taste him, all salt and musk as he wraps his mouth around the tip. It’s a strong flavour, and it makes something primal in Akaashi melt. He moans around Bokuto, sinking down to chase more of that.

The hands in his hair twist, not pulling him away, simply holding onto him as Akaashi bobs his head. He loves it, the slight sting on his scalp, as Bokuto fills his mouth, nudging against his throat. It’s overwhelming in all the best ways, and it has Akaashi making positively filthy noises as he sucks Bokuto off like his life depends on it.

“Ah- Akaashi- I-” Bokuto gasps, words clearly difficult for him as Akaashi sinks just that little bit lower. His hips jut up, just a little, and Akaashi welcomes it. It feels good, so good, to watch Bokuto’s restraint fall to nothing.

Akaashi holds onto Bokuto’s hips as he tries to relax his throat, just a little. He’s not very good at deepthroating, but he wants to try. Because it’s Bokuto, and Bokuto deserves the best. Akaashi wants to be that for him.

He takes him in slightly, swallowing against it as Bokuto’s cock invades his throat. It hurts a little, it’s uncomfortable and makes Akaashi’s eyes water, but Bokuto makes a noise like he’s been punched in the gut, and that makes it worth it.

Akaashi pulls back to breathe, gasping lightly, totally ignoring the spit leaking down his chin, and the lewd noise he makes when he pops his mouth off of Bokuto. He moans as he catches his breath, working Bokuto over with his hand, still feeling him in the back of his throat.

Maybe it’s not so bad to take him that deep.

“Oh _god_ , ‘Kaashi, I love you so much,” Bokuto groans from him, and Akaashi makes the mistake of looking up.

Fuck.

If he had thought Bokuto looked good earlier, he looks like the personification of lust now. He can see where Bokuto has bitten his lip, and hell, that was Bokuto trying to be quiet? It drives Akaashi wild, the messy hair, the sweat, the wild look in Bokuto’s eyes. He shivers with desire, imagining how Bokuto would look if Akaashi was actually riding him, rather than just blowing him, and he almost finishes in his pants like a damn teenager.

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

Akaashi takes Bokuto back into his mouth, and true to his word, it doesn’t take Bokuto long. Akaashi knows he can give better blowjobs, but Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind, crying out and professing his love a few more times before he chokes out a warning. He tugs on Akaashi’s hair - a gentleman, trying not to cum in his mouth - but Akaashi remains stubbornly nestled between his thighs.

Those beautiful thighs.

This beautiful man.

Bokuto thrusts his hips up with a sudden jerk as he tenses beneath Akaashi, and Akaashi takes it as well as he can. He swallows, coaxing Bokuto through his orgasm with his tongue, stroking the length of him as Bokuto groans and chokes curses into the otherwise silent apartment.

Some cum slides past Akaashi’s lips, despite his best efforts, mingling with the spit on his chin. He can feel it, and he knows he must look obscene as he slides off of Bokuto, but he doesn’t care. It all just feels so _right_.

“Fuck, Akaashi,” Bokuto mutters his name, voice utterly wrecked, and Akaashi looks up at him, licking his lips. 

He goes to wipe away the mess with the back of his hand, but Bokuto beats him to it, one hand falling from his hair to cup Akaashi’s jaw, thumb dragging over his slick chin. The movement stuns Akaashi, but not nearly as much as when Bokuton then raises that hand to his own mouth, licking his hand clean. He looks Akaashi dead in the eye as he does it, tongue wrapping around the side of his thumb, putting on a hell of a show.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Akaashi should not find that as hot as he does. 

“Get up here,” Bokuto commands, and Akaashi wastes no time in obeying, scrambling up over Bokuto’s naked chest. He straddles his stomach, knees digging into sweat soaked cushions.

And then that tongue is on Akaashi’s face, thoroughly cleaning him. And before Akaashi can think it’s weird, or gross, or anything of the sort, Bokuto is kissing him, and Akaashi can’t think of much of anything at all. There’s only Bokuto, the taste of him on his tongue, the feel of him pressed against him, the slide of his lips and the bite of his teeth.

Akaashi is falling, nothing to hold onto, but it’s okay. It’s okay, because Bokuto will catch him.

He can’t help them way his hips roll forward, grinding against Bokuto’s abs. It feels good, but not good enough. Akaashi gasps against Bokuto’s lips, trying to get something more.

“I’ve got you,” Bokuto promises, and then there’s a hand between them, undoing Akaashi’s pants and sneaking past the waistband of his underwear.

“Ahn, Bo-!” Akaashi cries out, head falling to rest against Bokuto’s shoulder. And god, that’s dangerous. Because there, nestled in his muscles, it smells so strongly of Bokuto, like sweat and soap and something so unnamable but manly. And Akaashi can practically _feel_ it when Bokuto chuckles, deep in his chest, his hand squeezing around Akaashi’s length.

“It’s okay,” Bokuto mutters the words into Akaashi’s hair, kissing the crown of his hair in tender counterpoint to his hand pumping between them, “I’ve got you. And I’m not letting you go again.”

“-don’t want you to,” Akaashi gasps against his neck, unable to hold back any words that come into his mind. He trembles as Bokuto squeezes him, running his thumb over his slit, and shit, Akaashi is going to be even quicker than Bokuto. It’s not his fault. If anything, it’s Bokuto’s, for being so damn sexy.

Bokuto, ignorant of Akaashi’s struggles, continues to be damn sexy, voice low as he utters another promise, “I know. You’re mine, Akaashi. You’re mine, and I’m yours. No one else can handle me, you know? You’re the only one. You’re, like, my soulmate.”

It’s cheesy. It’s perfect. Akaashi will tease him for that, later, but he won’t tell him he’s wrong. Because Akaashi wants it to be true, so badly. And even if it’s not, well, maybe they can make it true. They can work at it, and they can talk when they need to, and they can be perfect for each other.

But right now, all Akaashi knows is that it’s exactly what he needs to hear, and it feels so good. The words, the praise, Bokuto’s hand on him, the hot skin beneath him.

It’s too much.

Akaashi cries out as he finishes. It might be Bokuto’s name. Bokuto is certainly enthusiastic enough as he works Akaashi through it for it to have been. He comes apart, shaking and shivering in Bokuto’s arms, and it’s everything he ever dreamed of.

No. Wait. That’s a lie. Akaashi’s dreams couldn’t compare to this. Because as he comes down from his high, Bokuto doesn’t fade away. He doesn’t slip from Akaashi’s mind’s eye. He’s still there, Akaashi’s personal furnace, holding him so tight and secure.

Akaashi catches his breath, and everything catches up to him. His exhaustion, his bad habits, the late hour, the tiring nature of everything he put them through. His limbs turn to lead, and he groans as he slumps against Bokuto’s chest.

“‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asks, and Akaashi tries to raise his head to look at him, but it’s just too hard. He lets his eyes fall closed, tucking his nose into the junction of Bokuto’s neck and shoulder.

“Stay. Tonight. Here.” He meant for it to be a whole sentence, but Akaashi is pretty sure he gets his point across, sleep rushing up on him. He feels Bokuto’s chuckle, sweet and comforting beneath him.

“Of course,” Bokuto replies, gathering Akaashi in his arms like he weighs nothing. He probably doesn’t, to Bokuto. Those muscles aren’t just for show.

Akaashi feels Bokuto stand and start to walk, presumably to the bedroom, but he’s too far gone to care about how silly it is to be carried to bed. The last thing he does before falling fully asleep is to mumble one last, slurred phrase against Bokuto’s skin.

“‘lubyu.”

He’s asleep by the time Bokuto replies. But that’s okay. He’ll get to hear it the next time. And the time after that. And every time he wants, every time he needs to hear it, for many, many years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> why yes, yes I did binge read all of [surveycorpsjean's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean) Haikyuu fics in less than a week. I have no self control, okay? anyway, hope you guys liked this self indulgent emo fic, I just... I have so many emotions about anime men these days.
> 
> all the thanks in the world to [Kairo](http://twitter.com/devilsfeathers?s=09) for beta'ing for me. love u boo <3


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